by Gina Azzi
"Okay." I agree, shakily. I clench my fingers, relieved to see them twist in the bedsheets even though all of my senses, even touch, are dulled. Leaning forward, I take a sip of the cool water, letting it wash away the taste of pennies in my mouth.
The only person I want to call in this moment is Ria. But I can't do that to her, put her through more anxiety and stress and worry.
I can call my friend Isabella, but I doubt she’ll answer at this time of night. She’s probably out at an after party.
So really, there's no one to call.
How's that for the life of a supermodel?
4
Carter
"My name is Dr. Wallace, and you are at Ashby County General. Do you know your name?" The face of an older gentleman with dark brown eyes peers down at me, a mask hanging off his left ear.
"Carter. Carter Kane."
"Carter, you and your friend were in a car accident. Do you remember what happened?"
"Is he okay? Gunner? And the girl in the other car? Where are they?"
The brown eyes soften for one blink before studying my face closely. "Son, have you been drinking."
Shit. I close my eyes. This is it; all the poor decisions and mistakes I've made in the past have finally caught up with me. The things I did to keep Daisy safe, to make sure she could attend ASU, the lies I blatantly told my brothers so they wouldn't worry, the shit I unknowingly put Evie through, all of it has come full circle. Pulling away from the Devil’s Shadows was too little, too late. Karma. Karma is about to straight up bitch slap me. And I deserve it. "Yes, sir."
"And your friend?"
I swallow past a lump in my throat. "Yes." My voice sounds scratchy.
"Your buddy had a 0.1 BAC, over the legal limit."
Damn. Gunner Scott is gonna be in so much trouble with his daddy on top of the law.
"You were a 0.06." The doctor pats my shoulder gently. "You know he was that drunk?"
"No, sir," my voice rasps out.
"Well, the police will be in shortly to speak with you. You've got a moderate concussion and a sprained wrist. Incredibly lucky, considering."
Incredibly lucky. I'm always incredibly lucky. Always managing to squeak out just past any actual consequences for the deplorable acts I commit. Disgusted with myself, I look at my hands when I ask the doctor my next question.
"The girl?"
The doctor pauses, turning to look at me once more. "She's going to make it. The man in the other vehicle is stable."
I exhale with so much relief, it should swallow me back. She's going to make it. She's going to make it.
Wait a minute; what the hell does that even mean? Is she okay? And shit, I don’t even remember the driver of the other car. What does stable mean?
My eyes search frantically for the doctor, but he's already left my room and instead, Denver and Daisy shadow the doorway, Evie and Jax close behind them.
"Hi guys," I say lamely, holding up my sprained wrist.
"Oh, Carter." Daisy lurches forward, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She rushes to the side of my bed and presses a kiss against my shoulder like she's scared she'll hurt me if she touches me. Little sisters are the best. "I was so scared when I answered the phone." She pauses, her eyes welling with tears, and she blinks furiously to hold them back. "The doctor said you have a concussion and a sprain."
"I'm fine, Daisy."
"Thank God. It could have been so much worse." She sits back in the chair at my bedside. "You could be getting arrested like Gunner or coming out of emergency surgery like that poor girl. The guy driving is fine though. Pissed as hell about his car."
"Daisy," Jax warns, and Daisy's eyes flash up to his before she clamps a hand over her mouth.
Denver lets out a string of profanities, before sitting at the foot of my bed. "She's gonna be fine, man."
Evie looks at me sympathetically, her kind eyes filled with compassion I don't deserve from anyone. Least of all her.
"Gunner's getting arrested? What surgery? What car?" I sit up fully in bed, feeling the weight of my sins settle on my shoulders. How stupid could I be? Of course Gunner was drunk, it was a BBQ that started hours before I arrived. And Gunner’s never been one to say no to an extra beer or shot of Jack. Getting in a car with him was straight-up irresponsible, not to mention stupid. Here I am, getting a second-chance, getting an opportunity to pay it forward and do good things instead of shady, underground betting and risky MC-related jobs, and I cause this? Instead of checking Gunner or just forgetting the ice, the two of us got into a SUV and plowed into a sports car. We totaled some guy’s ride. And we cost a beautiful woman a hell of a lot considering she had emergency surgery.
Please, God, let her be alright.
Please.
I’m discharged from the hospital several hours later. There’s no update on the girl except that she’s recovering from surgery. Gunner’s parents posted his bail so I give him a quick call to make sure he’s alright.
“Hey.” He answers on the first ring. “You all good?”
“Yep. Just a sprain. Concussion. How’re you holding up?”
“Fine, man. Nothing but a few cuts and bruises.”
I breathe out loudly, the realization that the woman who didn’t do anything wrong suffered the brunt of the damage.
“I know the guy I hit is fine. I saw him in the hospital and he swung at me, absolutely enraged that his car is totaled. But, do you know if the girl’s okay?” Gun asks, echoing my thoughts.
“The doctor said she’s going to make it. She’s recovering from emergency surgery now. That’s all I know.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck. I fucked up, Carter.”
“We both did, Gun. We both shouldn’t have gotten in the car.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t driving. And you didn’t blow a 0.1 either.”
I drop my head back against the couch cushions and close my eyes. I know what Gunner says is true; I wasn’t driving the car. I didn’t have more than the legal limit of alcohol strumming through my veins. Still, a ball of guilt lodges itself in the pit of my stomach, souring it, because I knew better. I know better.
And now an innocent woman is paying for Gunner’s and my stupidity.
“How’d it go with your parents?” I ask instead.
Gunner lets out a low whistle which explains enough. Silence stretches for a few beats.
“Alright, well, give me a call whenever, man. I hope you feel better. I’m really sorry about everything.”
“Me too, Gunner. Take it easy.” I end the call and toss my phone down on the couch beside me.
And then I pray. Me. Bargaining with God as if I somehow have the chips to do so.
But, God, please. If you’re listening, let that girl be okay. Let her be alright. I swear, I won’t step out of line again. I’ll make good, responsible choices going forward. I’ll keep my nose clean. I’ll do the right thing. Just let her be okay.
Please.
It’s easier than it should be to find out the hospital information about the girl. Taylor. Her name is Taylor Clarke. A little flirting and lying about who I am, because I’m definitely not Taylor Clarke’s brother, has the nurse slipping me a paper with Taylor’s room number written on it along with Nurse Tina’s phone number.
I war with myself for a moment, knowing that I’m contradicting all the promises I made to God just last night by using my smarmy charm to learn more about Taylor Clarke. But I have to see her, have to make sure with my own eyes that she really is okay.
I walk slowly to her hospital room. My heart beats frantically in my chest, an unfamiliar unease settling in the pit of my stomach. Jesus, I’m nervous. What if she recognizes me? What if she starts screaming for security? What if her boyfriend or husband or whoever the hell the driver was is sitting with her and pummels my face in? I guess I’d deserve that.
Still, I force myself to keep walking until I’m outside room 311. Peeking inside, I see her, m
y breath literally catching in my throat. She's unnervingly beautiful. Wide blue eyes, full lips, and flowers in her hair, she looks like she could grace the cover of a magazine. Or dance at Coachella. Just at first glance, she’s different than I expected although I don’t even know what I was expecting. A girl like her, she shouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed, the green hospital gown slipping off her shoulder. She should be out in the world, conquering it.
“Who the hell are you?” A girl’s voice asks, catching me off guard. I nearly jump from the interruption to my thoughts.
“Sorry?” I ask lamely, still standing in the doorway.
“Who are you?” The girl repeats. She’s sitting next to Taylor, her feet kicked up on the end of Taylor’s bed. She leans forward in her chair, her eyes narrowing in on me, her shoulders squaring. Damn, she’s a little bit of a thing but she looks fierce as hell.
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” I glance at Taylor who’s staring at me with a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
“Have we met?” Taylor asks, tilting her head to the right, studying me.
“No, um, not really. I’m Carter.” I stride into her room then, reaching out with my hand like an idiot. Shit! I didn’t even bring flowers. Although glancing at her windowsill, it seems she has many admirers. Various blooms in striking colors line the windowsill and sit atop her bedside table. She’s holding several stems in her hands, weaving them into a crown. I grin, finally understanding the flowers in her hair.
“From the accident?” The girl sitting next to Taylor cuts in again.
I nod, swallowing thickly. I stare directly into Taylor’s eyes when I say, “Look, I know I shouldn’t be here and I can go if you’d like but I just, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Had to know. And I’m sorry. About the accident, the surgery, about everything.”
Her hands shake the slightest bit as she sits in stunned silence before nodding slowly. “Okay.”
“I need to check your stitches,” a nurse announces, waltzing into the room. “How’s she doing?” She directs her question toward the younger girl sitting next to Taylor’s bed.
“Still a little confused but alright.”
This time I do jump at the intrusion. Taylor looks away, her blue eyes wide and deep with emotion I can’t read and suddenly, I feel stupid for coming here. Did I upset her? Does she hate me?
“I hope you feel better soon.” I manage to croak out before turning on my heel and fleeing the hospital.
August
5
Carter
"He has to go to rehab," Lori tells me over brunch. It's been a month since the accident and while my injuries are essentially nonexistent, I've been keeping a low profile around town because one, no one likes a guy who walks around like life is great after putting a girl in the hospital, and two, Gunner's been slapped with a DUI and now rehab.
The silver lining to my social exile: I’m working my ass off at Cork’s and pulling in more money to cover the Kane household bills.
"Rehab?" I question, stabbing a hash brown with my fork. So, we're really at breakfast, but for some reason Lori insists that it's brunch. I think that's just something people in fancy cities say, and it's somehow spilled over to our sleepy town that has nothing fancy about it, save for two beautiful streets full of mansions and luxury cars that should belong to the county over.
She shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee. "It lessened his potential jail time."
Right. Gunner is facing jail time. Blowing out a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. This entire situation is a nightmare. And one of the worst things of all is that my punishment, in combination with my prior fuck-ups, is community service. Go ahead, laugh ‘til you crack a rib.
Community fucking service.
After I got into a car with a drunk driver and we crashed into a couple.
After all the shit I put Evie through that she's just getting past.
After all the horrible, horrendous, shady-ass things I did for the Devil’s Shadows MC.
After all of that, what do I get?
Community service.
Jesus. I deserve jail time. I deserve rehab. I deserve something a hell of a lot worse than being forced to do something I should already be doing, just as a member of my community.
"When do you meet your little brother for community service?" Lori asks me, shifting my focus back to her and away from the thoughts plaguing me these days.
"In a little bit. I'm taking him to the park to play catch. Then maybe an ice cream or something." You think I'd know what to do with an eleven-year-old kid. I mean, it wasn't that long ago that I was that age. Plus, I have two brothers. But the truth is that I practically raised Daisy, and I would probably do much better paired with a little sister than brother. "His name's Marco. I was paired with him through the Big Brothers and Big Sisters of Georgia."
The left side of Lori’s mouth ticks up, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She looks weary and tired in a way that has nothing to do with how many hours of sleep she clocked last night.
"Everything okay, Lor?"
"Sure."
I stab another hash brown. That's a non-answer if I've ever heard one.
She squirms across from me, and I know she wants to say something; it's burning the tip of her tongue, but she wants me to ask her for it, to pull it out of her. Jesus. I almost roll my eyes because Lori and I don't do shit like this. We don't play games. We know what's up.
What was it that Gunner had asked me the day of the accident?
Does Lori think there's more between us than there is?
"You wanna say something, Lori? You can ask me anything, you know." I watch her closely, taking in the way her eyes widen as she licks her bottom lip, biting it between her teeth like she's not sure if she wants to go down this path or not.
Finally, she sighs and wraps her hands around her coffee mug, even though it's gotta be cold by now. "What're we doing, Carter?"
Ah, shit.
Gunner was right.
"We're having breakfast."
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but a small smile glances off her lips. "You know what I mean. Don't try and be all charming. Where is this going?" She gestures between us, a small frown dimpling between her eyebrows.
"Lori," I lower my voice, leaning in slightly. I just gotta be honest with her. "I thought we were just having a good time. I never realized you thought more would come of it."
She frowns, looking down at her nearly untouched egg-white omelet.
"Look, I never meant to lead you on or—"
She shakes her head and I stop.
"Lor?"
"You never led me on, Carter." Her eyes meet mine once more, and I see them glaze over with the film of unshed tears. "I guess I was just hoping that, well, it doesn’t matter.” She waves a hand. "Forget I said anything."
I settle back in my chair, watching her for one more beat. Well, I guess today is the last day Lori and I will ever kick it. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
“I thought we were on the same page.”
“I know. I guess I just thought at some point, things would develop between us. I mean, I’m twenty-eight years old. My friends are all married, starting to have babies and I, I just thought I’d be in a real relationship by now.”
I nod, trying to understand things from her perspective. It’s true. Most of the people we graduated with, the ones who didn’t leave immediately after graduation and decided to stick around here, are coupled up. Married, kids, some of them on their second or third baby. Of course, I never saw myself as someone to settle down and have a family until later. Like way later. But for Lori, it must be tough being singled out in a group of girls whose lives seem to be moving in a different direction.
“I get what you’re saying, Lori. But that’s not enough of a reason. Just because we have a great friendship and are good, I mean really good, in bed together, that doesn’t mean we should get married.
Don’t you want more?”
She nods, studying her hands, a tear escaping over her eyelid.
I bow my head, staring at my cold coffee. I didn’t see this coming and I hate that I made Lori cry. She’s a good girl, a good friend. And I care about her, as a person. But not as my girl. “I’m sorry, Lori.”
She nods again, turning her face away as she swipes at a tear.
I glance at my phone, noting the time. I stall, knowing that the next words out of my mouth are going to make me seem like an insensitive jerk but I can’t be late for community service. Especially not on the first day. "All right, well, I've gotta stop home before I link up with Marco so..."
"Let's get the check."
I nod, signaling to the waitress.
Lori turns her head again, but I catch the tear that drops over her lid. She brushes it quickly with the back of her hand and my chest tightens.
Let's add this to the list of Carter Kane fuck-ups. Why do I always end up hurting the ones I care about, even when I’m trying to do the right thing?
"What's good little man?" I ask the lanky preteen sulking by the bleachers as I walk up to him. I've got two mitts tucked under my arm and an old baseball I found in the garage in hand. I toss him the ball lightly and note the spark of surprise that lights up his eyes as he catches it.
"You Carter?"
"Yep. You Marco?"
He nods, shifting his weight as he sizes me up.
I immediately like the kid. In part, because he reminds me of me at that age: untrusting, sullen, and cagey as hell.
"I know jiujitsu," he says eventually, his eyes narrowing slightly, a hard glint in them.
"That's pretty cool. I can box all right."
"I'm saying, don't try nothing with me. I know jiujitsu." He takes a step closer.
What the... oh Jesus. I sweep my eyes over him. Has someone hurt this kid? Someone in my position? Someone who he's supposed to be able to trust? What the fuck?
